


Inside the Fire

by miitgaanar



Series: A Court of Songs and Swells [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First book only, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 05:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17481941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miitgaanar/pseuds/miitgaanar
Summary: She was stolen from him.  His halfling.  His siren.  His Cassandra.He knew the other courts feared her power, feared what she could do were she unleashed upon them, but he had thought her safe in his lands, within the walls of his estate.But he had not accounted for Autumn's resolve.Tamlin stands before Eris Vanserra, the eldest son of Autumn, prepared to suffer the consequences of the first born's blood on his hands, if only it means he can get her back.  If only to get her away from him.But Eris sits upon the throne, unperturbed and ready to face the High Lord of Spring's wrath—and bring him to his knees.





	Inside the Fire

It was an all too familiar sensation, the feeling of warm, sticky blood flowing down his arms, to his hands, to the tips of his claws in tiny rivulets.  It pooled beneath him with the same gentle  _drip drip_  as the spring showers he had awoken to for centuries, the sound of the thick, red fluid falling to the stone floor disturbingly serene and tranquil in the silence that filled the foreign throne room.  He was so used to his own, the room bright and airy, filled with greens and golds and hints of beige and pink.  The colors of spring, of  _hope_.

Tamlin had always known autumn to be the forebearer of winter, of cold and death, one of the links in that cycle of the seasons that humans had always been subjected to in their lands, but he had never really considered just how beautiful death’s predecessor might be.  Autumn’s throne room was dressed in shades of red, from burgundy to copper, with small inklings of yellow and brown seamlessly woven into the decor.  The High Lord of Spring had been here many times before, both in his youth with his father and as a High Lord in his own right, but never before had the shades of autumn made him take pause, made him see the colors as they truly were: the last remnants of spring wilting and dying with the oncoming chill of winter.

But it wasn’t this strange tug at his soul that caused the metallic stench of unfamiliar fae blood filling his nostrils to dull, or even the image of Eris Vanserra sitting atop his father’s throne, his legs crossed casually over the knee with his fingers steepled haughtily before him…

It was the girl kneeling before him facing the open and empty throne room.  She was bound and gagged with Autumn flame, a dress as blue as the oceans of her mother left in tatters on her haggard form, her long, wine red hair a matted mess of knots and filth.  Her once unmarred pale skin now lay riddled with angry red welts and bruises ranging from deep purple to sickly yellow in color, old blood staining parts of her dress an ugly shade of brown.

And yet, despite that stomach churning sight, it was her scent that left bile burning at the back of Tamlin’s throat.  It was there, but barely.  It was faint, as if smothered beneath a heavy cloak.   _Eris’_  cloak.

It was no mere side effect of having been in his clutches for all these weeks.  No, his stench mingled with hers,  _muted_  hers, as if he had personally overseen her imprisonment, her…  _punishments_.

Cassandra.  His halfling.  His  _siren_ , subjected to the Vanserra bloodlust, subjected to that same cruelty that had ripped Lucien’s lover from his grasp so long ago.

A roar shook the throne room, jolting Cassandra from where she had been wearily staring at the stone floor, her gaze immediately snapping up to meet his own.  Even through his rage induced haze, Tamlin could see her deep green eyes go wide, their surface glassy with fresh, unshed tears.  He would have immediately leapt forth, intent on ripping Eris’ head from his shoulders with his bare hands had those eyes not been so… defiant.  Those were the same eyes that gazed up at him that day she had stood before his throne, unyielding even in the face of the fearsome fae she had been warned to fear, the same eyes that watched him so intently as he played his violin, the same eyes he had slowly and deeply fallen in love with.

And even now, after weeks of whatever horrors Eris had inflicted upon her, those eyes remained the same.  Defiant to the end.

Tamlin couldn’t help the ghost of a smile that tugged at his lips, turning his snarl into something far more sinister and foreboding.

“Now, Tamlin, the last I heard it was unspeakably rude to slaughter the guards of your host,” Eris drawled, hardly moving from where he lounged upon the throne.  Whatever smile might have been upon Tamlin’s lips vanished as the other fae spoke, his voice echoing throughout the cavernous throne room.  “And after all the trouble I went through to prepare for your arrival.  How can we possibly dine with the weight of these deaths on our shoulders?”

With every word that fell from Eris’ lips, Cassandra grew more and more tense, but she hardly dared to move, as if she had to restrain every flinch with whatever willpower remained within her.  Tamlin’s gaze remained fixed on her, his voice hardly more than a growl.  “If you know what’s good for you, you will cease speaking immediately and give me the girl.”

Even from his place toward the back of the throne room, Tamlin could see the smirk that pulled at the corner of Eris’ lips.  “That’s fairly big talk for someone who took so very long to come retrieve his pet.  Find another half-breed to warm your bed in the meantime?  Or were you finally able to find a High Fae desperate enough to lower her standards and let you mount her?”

“Where is your father, Eris?”  Tamlin snapped, finally forcing himself to take a few steps forward.  “I will not be dealt the insult of having to settle this matter with an  _heir_.”

Eris tilted his head, a single eyebrow arching as he replied, “Haven’t you heard?”

Tamlin’s steps faltered, his long strides coming to a sudden stop as he finally let his gaze slide from Cassandra to the fae seated behind her.  It was bait, an attempt to trick him into admitting ignorance of the affairs of his neighboring courts.  He forced his face into a mask of indifference, his voice cold and detached.  “Has the High Lord taken ill?  That’s the only possible reason Beron would let you handle such a delicate affair on your own.”

Eris’ nostrils flared, but still his smirk only widened into a mocking grin.  “I truly pity your people.  To have a ruler so wrapped up in his own affairs that he doesn’t bother to keep an eye on his borders.  Rhysand could’ve swooped in and taken your land for himself and you hardly would have looked up from your desk.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Tamlin snarled, a twinge of guilt shooting through him as Cassandra visibly flinched at the sound.  “Either call down your father or I will rip the tongue from your mouth and leave you to choke on your own blood.”

“Such ferocity from the beast of spring!” Eris laughed, leaning forward slightly.  “You think that by putting on this show it will distract from your inept attempt at being a High Lord.”  He scoffed, reaching forward to idly stroke the flames that made up Cassandra’s gag, her short, strangled whimper causing a delighted gleam to shine in his cold amber eyes.  

A surge of anger rippled through Tamlin, his lips curling back in a vicious snarl as his muscles tensed.  His shapeshifting magic percolated just beneath his skin as Eris spoke up again, “High Lord Beron is dead, Tamlin.”

It took a full beat for the words to register in Tamlin’s mind, Eris’ voice echoing off the sparsely decorated walls and fading into the silence before the High Lord of Spring could finally form a single word.  “What?”

A dark laugh rumbled in Eris’ chest, the sound only just barely loud enough to reach Tamlin’s sensitive fae ears.  “He’s been dead for  _weeks_.  Surely my dear brother would have heard by now.  Maybe you should’ve spent less time in a blind rage trying to find your half-breed pet and more time actually being a High Lord.”  He tugged lightly on a lock of Cassandra’s hair, a wicked grin stretching his features.  “Turns out he wasn’t very happy when I came home with the siren mutt in tow, I figured it might finally be time for a change in leadership after all these centuries.”

Tamlin stood there gaping, his claws retracting as his mind slowly absorbed those five simple words.  Beron couldn’t be dead.  He had five other sons who would have never stood for this.  They were a vicious bunch, but they feared Beron more than they hungered for his throne.  They would never…

“I’m sure you’re wondering how I managed it,”  Eris’ voice cut through Tamlin’s erratic train of thought.  “Honestly, I never could have done it without your pet.  Turns out you trained her well.  There was hardly a struggle as she opened that pretty little mouth of hers.”

Cassandra’s eyes fell to the ruddy brown stone floor, her shoulders trembling slightly.  He had used her.  He used her powers to take Autumn for himself.  It was the first promise Tamlin had made to her when they began honing her abilities: he, nor anyone else in his court, would ever use her to attain any sort of power.  

Tamlin felt his knuckles split as his claws slid out once more.  “Was this stunt little more than a way to get under my skin?  Or was that merely a byproduct of your plans to secure the throne for yourself?”

Eris shrugged.  “I’ve always wanted a pet.  A siren, a mutt though this one may be, is probably the most envied prize in all of Prythian.”  A wolfish grin split the new High Lord of Autumn’s features.  “Too bad this one has outlived her usefulness.”

Tamlin’s eyes went wide, hardly allowing himself even a thought as his powerful legs drove him forward, his heart sinking with every bounding step, the gravity of Eris’ words taking hold…

Until he hit a solid wall.  Tamlin looked up, around, his long golden hair sticky with drying blood whipping wildly as he scanned the area in front of him.  He was hardly ten feet from her, so close that even Eris’ scent could do little to blot out her own from his senses, but something had stopped him, something as hard and unforgiving as stone, yet as clear as the finest pane of glass.

Tamlin reached up, retracting his claws as he placed his hands before him, flat against whatever invisible force held him back.

“You didn’t really think I would go through the trouble of luring you here and not take precautions for your arrival, did you?” Eris’ voice was practically dripping with derision as he finally stood from his throne, brushing past Cassandra’s still kneeling form to descend the four meager steps separating him from Tamlin.  “Wards are certainly useful things, especially when accompanied by runes attuned to specific beings.  Did you know there is a whole set of runes used specifically to keep shapeshifters at bay?”

Tamlin dragged his fingers along the barrier, the slightest ripple disturbing the otherwise invisible wall.  Beyond it, beyond Eris’ sneering face, Cassandra sat there in a wide-eyed panic.  Whatever Eris had up his sleeve must’ve finally clicked into place in her mind.  His eyes darted to meet her gaze and she quickly, almost imperceptibly, shook her head, those pine green eyes of hers imploring him to do… something.  

“What do you want?”  Tamlin’s gaze slid back to Eris, keeping his voice carefully even and neutral, though he knew his eyes were cold and simmering.  “You got me here, that’s what you wanted, right?  To what end, Eris?  All out war will do you no good, not even with the siren in your clutches, but right now that’s where we’re headed.”

“Oh, trust me,” Eris said.  “I am very well aware that a war between our courts would get me nowhere.  You have strong ties with the seasonal courts, especially Summer, and Dawn and Day would likely come to your aid were you to tell them that I plucked such a lovely flower from your garden.”

A possessive growl rumbled deep in Tamlin’s throat, but Eris pressed on, unfazed by the display, “Which is why I decided to have this matter settled privately.  I will admit, my plan was initially very different.  Invite you here, give up the mutt after a bit of reluctance, and as soon as you’ve swept her up and into your arms, she opens that delightfully talented mouth of hers and makes you her thrall.”  Eris flashed him a toothy grin.  “ _My_  thrall.”

A muffled, angry shriek echoed throughout the throne room, drawing Tamlin’s gaze back to Cassandra, but her eyes were not on him.  Those bright, defiant eyes were fixed on Eris, her deep green irises taking on a golden hue in the light of the flames that bound her.  There was no fear or hesitation there, merely a deep-seated rage that had been too long stifled beneath Eris’ boot.  

Eris looked over his shoulder to where she remained kneeling before his throne, his face a careful mask of boredom.  “Mind yourself, pet.  That fire remains harmless only at my will.  It would be wise to remember that.”

Tamlin watched in horror as Eris raised his hand, unable to reign in his panic as he shouted, “Don’t!”

Eris allowed his gaze to drift back to Tamlin, his eyebrow arched as he watched the mighty High Lord of Spring.  “Oh?  Is it really that easy?  What a sad excuse for a High Lord you are.”

Tamlin swallowed, his hands still flat against the ward separating him from the throne.  From Cassandra.  He didn’t even bother to don that mask of indifference again as he said, “Enough of this, Eris.  If it’s not me you want, what is it?”

“Oh, no.  It is you I want.”  Eris turned to climb those four simple steps up to his throne once more, coming to kneel next to Cassandra.  “But, as it turns out, the bitch wouldn’t play along.”  He reached out to comb his fingers through her tangled, matted red hair before they came to rest at the base of her neck.  “She swore that she would rather bite off her own tongue and choke on it than betray you.  Honestly, Tamlin, did you have to teach her our dramatic flair, too?  It’s tiresome enough amongst us immortals, but truly it is downright irritating on a mortal mutt.”

Cassandra kept her head held eye, her gaze locked on Tamlin even as Eris’ thumb caressed the soft flesh of her neck.  Were it not for the slight hitch in her breathing, the pounding of her heart, Tamlin would have thought her unfazed by her captor’s hold on her.  Despite everything, pride swelled deep in his chest.  His little halfling was every bit the fierce siren that he had always thought her to be.

At the persisting silence, Eris’ mask slipped, a bit of that cold rage contorting his otherwise handsome features.  The light from Cassandra’s bonds cast deep, menacing shadows across the High Lord’s face, his long red hair seeming to flicker and burn along with his bright flames.  His voice was quieter, but no less foreboding as he spoke, “Tell me, how long do you think our ‘immortality’ stretches?”

Tamlin watched Eris carefully, his fingers raking along the ward that held him back, that slight ripple in the magic obscuring the fae’s form with the movement.  “What nonsense are you spewing now?”

Eris chuckled darkly, shaking his head as he released Cassandra’s neck, his fingers then moving to grasp roughly at her chin, turning her gaze onto him, his face a hair’s breadth away from her own.  “It’s no nonsense, Tamlin.  I’m just wondering how long you could bare this immortal existence without her in it.”

Before Tamlin could utter a single plea, before Cassandra could even so much as attempt to wrench herself from his grasp, before either of them could fully process the son of Autumn’s words, Eris plunged the dagger hidden in the sleeve of his tunic up and into the hollow of her throat, that cold, soulless smile of his widening as her lifeblood stained his pale hands.

Tamlin’s vision went red as an earth shattering, agonized roar filled the throne room.  He pounded at the ward, the invisible wall doing little but sending out slightly larger ripples shimmering through the seemingly empty air, effectively blotting out the nightmare unfolding before him.

Through that haze, through that long ingrained bloodlust flowing through his veins from millennia upon millennia of fae existence, two simple words ran through Tamlin’s mind over and over again, punctuating every desperate hit he landed to the ward keeping him from ripping Eris’ heart from his chest:  _Not again.  Not again.  Not again._

“Your tantruming will get you nowhere,” Eris said lazily, his face obscured by the ripples of magic restraining Tamlin’s blows.  He stood slowly, allowing Cassandra’s body to crumple to the hard stone floor.  “This is really a rather selfish reaction, honestly.”

“ _I will feast on your bones, Vanserra!_ ”  Tamlin roared.  His face felt wet.  He wondered briefly if the wards had somehow ripped his hands open as he desperately tore at them, but he quickly realized that the salty tang slipping past his lips was not blood, but tears.

“That’s certainly a bit dramatic,” Eris descended the stairs again, approaching that invisible wall at a casual pace, unperturbed by the grief stricken High Lord a mere arm’s length away.  “We both know we fae aren’t cannibals by any stretch of the imagination.”

“You have declared war here today, Eris,” Tamlin snarled, the desire to feel the other fae’s blood flow through his fingers the only thing keeping the wracking sobs at bay.  Her heart still beat, though it was fast and erratic, her breathing frighteningly wet and shallow.  She didn’t have long.  He knew how long a wound like that would take to kill.  He had seen it, done it, so many times before.  “I will see your court razed to the ground.  Your people will beg me for mercy I will not deign to grant them.”

Eris merely chuckled.  “If you’re done with the theatrics, answer me this: what would you give to bring her back?”

Tamlin roared, a deep frustration welling up within him as he realized he was locked in his fae form, the runes undoubtedly keeping his shapeshifting magic at bay.  “I will not play along with these games of yours any longer.”  He turned on his heel to storm out, to raise his army, to do anything but look upon her lifeless body.  Her heart was so slow, so soft, so faint, her soul on the very precipice between life and death.  He knew if he dared to look beyond Eris to her bloodied form, there would be no light in those eyes, no unending defiance.

He hardly managed to choke back the sob that threatened to rip through his body.

“She’s beginning to grow cold, Tamlin,” Eris called to him.  “Would you really walk out and give up your one chance to get her back?  Perhaps she put too much faith in you after all.”

Tamlin whirled on him, his long, golden hair now stiff with dry fae blood.  He had nearly forgotten the state he was in.  His flesh seemed to break and split with each movement, but it was little more than that caked on, dried blood at last beginning to flake and crack.

“Do not dare mock me now, Vanserra,” Tamlin’s voice was a deathly calm, each word soft but sharp, a promise of violence embedded in each syllable.  “You will be lucky if your court remains standing through the next fortnight.”

“You are wasting time, you know,”  Eris said, remaining unflinching before the raging spring storm.  “The power I hold has a time limit.”

Despite himself, despite the rage pumping through his heart, despite the sobs that threatened to spill over his lips as he caught sight of Cassandra’s body strewn haplessly before Eris’ throne, Tamlin stopped.  He listened.

“There’s a good boy, now.”  Eris splayed his hands before him, Cassandra’s blood still staining his flesh.  “What would you give to have her back?”

Tamlin resisted the urge to run headlong into the ward, a dull hope forming in the back of his mind that brute force might cause it to weaken and possibly crack, giving him the chance to rip Eris’ head from his shoulders and toss it to the bogge.  But he was still, his strength at last failing him as he fell to his knees before the High Lord of Autumn, his mind blank but for one single word, “Anything.”

Eris’ brow shot up, the first look of genuine surprise he allowed to show since Tamlin had stormed into the throne room.  “Anything?”

Unable to hold them back anymore, a shuddering sob escaped the High Lord of Spring, his tears flowing freely as he lay prostrate before Eris.  “ _Anything_.  I will give you my land, my court.  I will give you my people, my every possession.  I will give you my  _life_.  Anything to bring her back.”

As he said those words, each promise falling from his lips with an ease he never thought possible, Tamlin knew he meant it.  Every single word.  He would give anything in this world to just hear her voice once more, to hear a single song come from those pale, pink lips.  To see that unending defiance shine in those eyes one last time.

Eris hummed.  “How about your immortality?”

Tamlin looked up, hardly daring to move, his vision blurred by the tears that seemed to flow endlessly.  “What?”

“There’s no need to give your whole life, not when you have so much of it to give, don’t you agree?”  Eris said, confidence and assurance practically oozing from his every pore. 

Tamlin merely stared up at him blearily.  This had been the plan all along.  That was why Cassandra had reacted as she did, why she had suddenly looked so panicked, why she had shrieked with unrestrained anger beneath her bonds.  Her eyes hadn’t been imploring him to save her, they had been imploring him to  _leave_.

But he didn’t care.  Not if it meant he could have her back.  Immorality meant nothing to him if it meant enduring it without her song filling the halls of the Spring Court.

“Do it, Vanserra,” Tamlin said, his voice hoarse, broken.  “Do whatever it is you need to.  Please.  Just…  _please_.”

Tamlin hardly noticed as Eris reached out, muttering something softly as the ward before him shattered and disappeared, the runes lining the floor vanishing with a sputtering set of sparks.  He remained still, unmoving even as Eris approached his kneeling form, his hands outstretched as he began muttering anew, words Tamlin didn’t recognize, words undoubtedly from some old, forgotten language used to forge dark magics.  He noticed none of this, the world around him falling away as he stared passed Eris and to his throne, where Cassandra’s body still lay, her heartbeat having finally gone still and silent.

A sudden, sharp pain shot through Tamlin’s body, his eyes wrenching shut as he writhed upon that cold stone floor.  It was a searing, all encompassing pain, as if his every nerve had been lit aflame.  Through the fog of agony, Tamlin briefly wondered if Eris had lied, if he had merely set him ablaze and planned to watch him slowly, painfully slip from this world.  Even if that was so, Tamlin found he didn’t care, that he would gladly accept the sweet release of death.  Cassandra was already waiting for him there, it would be worth the agony…

But the pain began to fade, slowly, and Tamlin realized there was no fire surrounding him, no smoke, the distinct smell of burning hair and flesh conspicuously absent from the air.  He was not dying.  He was not free from this hell.

Tamlin attempted to sit up, overwhelming nausea flooding his senses, his long golden hair spilling over his shoulders as he pushed himself upright.  Or, at least, that was what he had expected.

His hair was no longer the bright gold of the sun’s rays, but a dull, caramel color with only the faintest hints of gold peeking through the thick locks.  His senses had been significantly dampened, his pulse all but silent in his head, the sharp tang of foreign fae blood filling his nostrils vanishing, the soft, slow trickle of Cassandra’s blood no longer a haunting echo in his ears.

“Enjoy your days with her, Tamlin,” Eris sneered from above him, turning on his heel in a flourish of deep red and brown.  “It would seem they are numbered now.”

Tamlin nearly grabbed for him, trying and failing to draw his claws to rip into the fae’s flesh, a sudden lethargy falling upon him like a crashing wave.  “What did you do to me, Vanserra?”

“I gave you what you wanted.”  Eris did not even deign to look over his shoulder as he continued to saunter from the room, merely gesturing with a wave of his hand toward his throne.  “You are merely paying the price for it.”

Tamlin tried to roar, to summon that shapeshifting magic that had been muted by the runes that had littered the room, but to no avail.  His roar was little more than a strangled yell, that once powerful magic mere dust in his veins as he watched the High Lord of Autumn’s retreating back, frustration bubbling up in his chest as he realized how low and muffled the world now seemed.  He reached up, feeling at his now round, useless, mortal,  _human_  ears.

“ _There’s no need to give your whole life, not when you have so much of it to give._ ”

With a sudden pang, Tamlin realized the hell he had just unleashed.  He was no longer High Fae.  He was no longer High Lord of the Spring Court.  He had left his people leaderless and vulnerable, ripe for the picking of a bloodthirsty Vanserra.

He was about to leap to his feet, to run with every possible ounce of strength left in this useless mortal body to warn Lucien, to warn his home when he heard a shuddering gasp and a wet, choking cough.  Tamlin froze, turning toward the throne just in time to see Cassandra’s eyes flutter open as she sat up with a start, retching violently until her stomach rid itself of the thick, sticky blood that had oozed its way down her throat.

Tamlin scrambled to his feet, trying his damnedest not to think about the reason why the floor was so warm and slippery as he fell to his knees beside her, his hands hovering before him, hesitant to touch her and break whatever spell Eris had cast to bring her back, afraid to speak and wake himself from this grief fueled hallucination.

But as she regained her composure, as she reoriented herself to the land of the living, she looked up and directly at him.  There was no fear, no sorrow, no reluctance in those green eyes.  There was nothing but pure, unending defiance.  Even in the face of death, she dared it to try to take her again, to take her from him.

And in that moment, even without the immortal strength and grace of the High Fae, without the power and command the title of High Lord gave him, Tamlin knew that Eris Vanserra’s days were numbered, and that it would be the sea that snuffed out his fire.


End file.
